Meetings
by Stefan-sama
Summary: One is a scrawny, thieving orphan, the other a demure maiden of the light. Both ostracized and feared by their countrymen, they find manage to solace in each other. This is the tale of young Sothe and Micaiah, and how they first met each other.
1. Meaning Appears

**Hooray, another multi-chapter! This is currently my priority, so updates should be sooner. I really like this pairing, it just seems more innocent and pure than other relationships, and so I tried to express that through my writing. It disgraces me to know I had no idea that Fire Emblem XII has been out in Japan for two weeks now (it's a remake of Part II of _Monsho no Nazo_), so I wrote this to perhaps redeem myself as a so-called, self-proclaimed Fire Emblem Expert. It's kinda short on the other hand, which is why I had to beef it up with a lot of description and really unnecessary exposition and detail, so the pace might seem rather slow. I hope it interests you, but I'm still not too sure whether I got characterization for the two. Sothe is okay, I think, but Micaiah may seem kinda off. Well, it's the first chapter, on the other hand, so we'll probably get to that next update. So for now, please enjoy this, and raise awareness of XII! We need an English version!**

**Meetings**

**_Meaning Appears_**

Many screeching cries reached his ears as he tore rapidly through the broken streets and alleyways, weaving seamlessly through the twists and turns of the Daein slums, mostly consisting of some slight variation of either "someone catch that boy!" or "stop, thief!" Of course, being himself, the Green Scourge of the Streets, as he was known to the general populace, had not a second thought regarding his transgressions against his nearby townsmen. Life as an orphan had taught him well enough that for scum like himself, the only difference between his existence and complete and total anarchy was one single, grisly creed that he recited silently every morning:_ I and my survival are everything, thus, all else must be disregarded for the sake of survival. _He lived by the creed as well, the dried blood of other rival street children that nearly covered his daggers entirely was evidence enough of that.

On this particular occasion, the boy was hurtling through the streets while carrying a bag filled to the brim with various meats and cheeses worth well over eight hundred gold, as well as some actual gold jingling about at the bottom, while being hounded by the owner and some assistant butchers, who were accordingly brandishing knives that were just about as tall as he was. One was thrown at him, but without even a single glance he deftly sidestepped it with ease, not missing a single hurried step, his torn and tattered cloak fluttering behind him tauntingly as he passed like a shadow past the wall where that particular knife had embedded itself. More cutlery came whizzing at him, but he dodged those just as effortlessly, finally breaking through the last gateway and reaching the Great Square of Nevassa, where he blended in with the throngs of people that were making their way through the maze of shops and stalls, becoming virtually invisible and grinning to himself as he saw the men that had been chasing him fumbling about and becoming generally confused in the crowd.

Satisfied with himself, he allowed himself some relaxation and straightened up, taking a bite out of his newly-won meal and turning around, which promptly caused him to walk straight into someone's stomach without taking even half a step. He didn't enjoy the taste of leather at all, as did most, so he spit out his cheese onto the cobblestone along with the rest of his spoils which had dropped and spilled out in the impact. Scowling, he looked up at the offender, but was left slack-jawed and gaping.

The girl that looked down at him seemed not much older than he was, with silken white hair that flowed down past her shoulders. Of course, he was less distracted by the odd color of her hair than her eyes. They seemed to pierce through his very soul like an arrow, gazing openly at all the crimes he had ever committed. Yet, somehow, they were warm and kind eyes that drew him in helplessly, and even still, he recognized the pitiful look of one who was constantly and unfairly ostracized and harassed, her look seemingly echoing his own. He opened his mouth to speak as she extended her hand down to help him with a kind smile. Naturally, he was too distrustful of others to take it, but any dialogue or contact of any kind was quickly interrupted. Too late, he realized the disturbance they made had parted the mass of bodies, clearing the line of vision of the shopkeepers, who grinned evilly, marched up and made to grab him.

He was prepared to run, but the curious onlookers had formed a tight semicircle, barring any escape. Looking about desperately for an alternative, he supposed he could scoot out under the legs of the men, but his view of those legs was suddenly blocked off by the girl getting up and throwing out her arms to the side, clearly defying any passage to whatever was behind her, which, in this case, happened to be him. Bewildered, he got up as well and tried to get another look at her face, amazed that someone should be protecting him for once.

"Hand the boy over," one with a bushy moustache growled, reaching out with a fat, hairy, greasy arm, as if he considered "the boy" in question to be little more than a misbehaved mutt. "He's got a lot of our valuables there."

He hissed angrily in retaliation, but the girl persisted in sheltering him, tapping him lightly on the mouth to stop him. Normally, he would have bit anything that came too close to his mouth, edible or no, but her touch was so soft, he was left dumbfounded. The girl paused as if thinking then straightened up. "I'm terribly sorry. My cousin comes from across the desert, and doesn't speak a word of the common tongue. It seems he forgot the money and came running back to me to receive it. He forgot he couldn't take unpaid merchandise out, and your knife-throwing certainly didn't help his fright."

Scrunching up their faces in indignation, they opened their mouths to yell at her some more, but were quickly silenced when she took the head butcher's hand and shook it, leaving behind gold worth more than the boy had ever saw at once in his life. They looked at each other, scowled, then stalked back to their haunts.

The commotion done with, the people resumed their usual activities, leaving the girl alone with him. She put her hand to his forehead, bending down, and said simply, "It's not good to steal." She smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and left, passing by him and disappearing down a dark alleyway. He stood unmoving, rooted on the spot as countless people meandered past for well over an hour.

"Not… Good to steal…" he repeating, mouthing the words silently to himself for the umpteenth time as he recalled her eyes. Suddenly remembering that he existed, he shook his head rebelliously and yelled. "Damn you, lady, I'll steal whatever I want!" Growling, he picked his cloak about him and spun around, bounding off behind her into the darkness. In his determination, Sothe forgot to even take his meal.


	2. Friendship Appears

**My sister tells me the naming in the end of this chapter seems rather forced. To be honest, I agree with her. At the same time, I haven't played Radiant Dawn in forever (sorry, I know...), so I forgot exactly how Micaiah described meeting Sothe. All I can really remember is that one picture, come to think of it. Maybe it shows too well, perhaps you'll tell me in a review (hint, hint)? Well, just reading it's fine, too. So on that note, please enjoy chapter two!**

**_Friendship Appears_**

Moving completely unnoticed, he darted from shadow to shadow as he trailed her, breathing heavily yet silently in exhilaration. She hummed a tune unknown to him as she walked, a cloak like his own billowing from her bare shoulders. It nearly grazed his face once or twice, but still she had absolutely no clue that she was being followed by the same scrawny child she had met over a fortnight ago- as she had remained unaware for every single one of those days.

He was disgusted at his fascination with her, it went against everything he had ever thought valuable. Yet, he craved her, hungering and thirsting for her as if there were a massive hole in his chest he was forever unable to satiate or quench, to be seeing her face, her eyes, they made him feel as if the world was a shining, beautiful place, as if he too had a chance at a good life. He still didn't trust her, of course. He never would, if everything went according to plan. As she had not for the last few weeks, she'd never know his proximity. Hell, she'd probably forgot he existed.

Or so he thought with fleeting hope as she turned around, as if she finally found something to talk about with him, like he had been there all along. "I'm really sorry to talk with you, since I know you're trying not to be seen, but really, you're going to catch your death of cold if you keep following me around in this weather with those rags."

Taken aback at the sudden revelation of her knowledge of him, he was tempted to flee into the shadows, where he felt safest. But once again, her eyes rooted him to the spot. She extended her arm in a gesture of friendship as she bent down to meet his eye level. Gasping involuntarily, he jumped back fearfully. He was fully aware that he was showing weakness, and he could almost see the fear in his own eyes, but at the moment his survival instincts took a backseat to his long-seated fear of close contact with another human being.

Undaunted, she merely extended her hand further towards him. "Won't you take my hand?" Her voice soothed him, it was like a bell that drew him in. Against his better judgment, he tentatively took a slight step forward. She smiled at this, prompting him to take another, bigger step into the light. He was scared of light. It made him feel uncomfortable, standing out in the open, completely vulnerable to attack. She emanated light, making him feel apprehensive as he should be, but yet, her light, it was not harsh, unforgiving, burning, it was instead warm, soft, golden.

He took one last forward, slowly raising up his palm and meeting it to hers.

She cocked her head to the side, smiling, obviously happy they were able to connect. "I'd like to be friends, but if we're going to be spending this much time together in the future, I think it's time I learned your name," she said softly, resting her hand on the top of his head.

"…Sothe," he muttered, almost unintelligibly, even less audible than the slightest whisper. She raised her eyebrow quizzically, pointing to her ears. "…Sothe," he managed, a little louder this time. Again, she motioned to her ear. "Sothe," he repeated finally, raising his voice to normal speaking level. She smiled again.

"Sothe, hm? It's a beautiful name. I don't have a name myself, so I can't give you mine, unfortunately," she replied, a tinge of sadness in her voice. She covered it with another smile, but he had spent so long subconsciously analyzing faces that he was immediately able to tell it was a false happiness. On the other hand, he knew well enough that should he have been in her position, it would have been uncomfortable to be asked questions, so he wisely decided not to probe further. "Would you like to give me one, Sothe?"

He looked up at her, surprised. "…Give you a name?" She nodded. He was utterly bewildered by such an odd concept, so he stuttered and blundered around as he thought. "I-I like…" The sentence never finished, as he forgot what he was going to say, flustered that he should be communicating with someone as equals. He turned about in place and looked around wildly, looking for some sort of inspiration as his eyes darted about, finally resting on a bag of wheat. "…Gr- Grain? …No, er, Bleached? Um… Percent. Monosodium Glutamate." At last, he saw the brand name.

"…Micaiah."

"It's wonderful, Sothe," she replied, glowing. "Shall we be friends?"

"…I- I've never… I've never had a friend…"

"Perfect. Neither have I."


	3. Trial Appears

**I'm not fond of this chapter, I'll say that. I guess it's kind of like another story of mine, _Promise_- it seemed like a good enough premise in my head, but it just didn't turn out right in practice. I think it's just because my actual writing skill stinks like a teenage armpit in comparison to my imagination. Hell, even the name stinks, I couldn't come up with anything better. Suggestions for a new one would be welcome. Sorry for making you read this, then. **

**_Trial Appears_**

They sat together, huddled and shivering under a thinned and torn blanket in the cold darkness, watching countless people pass by, crunching their boots together in the snow, from the safety of the alleyway. Their breath danced about in the frost, finally settling, materializing in a rather wet way on the broken metal knife they had found cast away, which they were presently attempting to cut some scraps of bread with. Being stale and forgotten on top of a shelf in some bakery, it had been haggled for with very near of the last of their meager savings, but as long as they shared it together, anything was good enough for the two.

"Sorry we couldn't find anything better, Sothe," Micaiah said sympathetically as she put her arm around his shoulder, for comfort in both respects of physical and emotional, even as she sighed. "No one wants to come to where the fortune-telling stand is in this cold, and we can't afford to get position in the market, or our own building…" He opened his mouth both in reply and to take a bite of his portion, but she silenced him. "But no stealing, even now!"

He turned and pouted.

They ate in silence for a few moments longer, simply enjoying the fact that this was their first holiday spent in company. That simple fact made the stale bread and near-rotten cheese better than even nectar and ambrosia. Unfortunately, that silence didn't last long. It was rather foreseeable, after all, since Sothe and Micaiah were certainly not the only starving tramps in Nevassa.

"Yo! What's up, you little bastard?" came the greeting. A sallow, lanky teenager sneered down at the pair. He was older than Sothe, with mussed brown hair, and slightly more well-fed, though that wasn't saying very much. "See ya found yourself a nice little biddy, eh? Maybe you can give me her, instead. Your monthly payment's overdue."

"Leave Micaiah out of this, Bacca, she's got nothing to do with you," Sothe snarled, darting up and shielding her as he threw his arms out. "And I'm not late, you just can't count, you blithering idiot. Get outta my sight."

"Payments? Sothe, what's going on?" Micaiah asked, putting a hand on his shoulder worriedly.

"L'il Sothe here gives me payments monthly, and the gang protects him, "Bacca replied, sneering as he stepped up and attempted to kick his junior in the shin. "A give and take deal. It's how things work in the Daein Orphaned Children Ali- Ally- Aliun- Allyein-" The boy scrunched up his face in frustration as he attempted to sound out his thoughts.

Sothe sprang forward, delivering a swift uppercut with his knife arm that left Bacca's shirt with a gaping tear. "Alliance, dummy. And as of now, I quit your stupid little club. It's extortion, that's what it is. The only reason you have followers at all is because your fingers are a little stickier than average." He jumped back, taking Micaiah's hand and running for it, but a pair of kids leapt down from the rooftop above and brandished daggers of their own.

Arms still crossed in thought, Bacca turned his head in annoyance. "Afer- Aveer- Ahferije…?" He snarled, motioning for a host of kids to come out of the woodwork. Sothe and Micaiah were suddenly surrounded. "That better not have been an insult, you little bastard! Get him, boys!" The motley band rushed them, closing in and leaping up.

Rolling and ducking about, Sothe hacked away at the legs of his former allies, rendering them harmless and howling bloody cries of pain, but he was quickly overrun by sheer numerical force.

"Please, holy light, shine down and strike my enemy…" Micaiah murmured, folding her hands to her chest and thrusting her arm into the air. There was a flash, and suddenly one of the boys was thrown to the ground. He had, however, managed to grab onto her, tearing off her sleeve, and exposing her bare arm to the throng.

"What the hell-" Bacca let out a cackle. "Those tattoos, I get it now! She's a half-blood! A witch! Back off, boys, she'll catch you with that light and cook you up for dinner!" Two ran off screaming the instant they heard the term. The rest jeered along with him, encircling the two and dancing about mockingly, all gleefully calling derogatory names related to her parentage or supposed witch status. Some even sang little rhymes that they made up on the spot. "Little witch, little bitch, she'll eat us up if we even twitch!" Admittedly, the rhymes were certainly nowhere near Shakespearean caliber considering the gang's extremely limited vocabulary ('twitch' was the most advanced word they'd said in years) and low cognition skills, but they were sung in unison, and it stung where it was supposed to. Micaiah, pressured on all sides, stumbled and nearly fell to the ground, barely managing to catch herself as she knelt.

As they had planned, the gang had no time to celebrate, as they were too busy pouncing. "She's a monster- if we catch her, we'll be heroes!" one yelled. Desperate for aid as he shielded Micaiah with his body, Sothe looked about wildly. They were, unfortunately, in an alleyway, and rotting wood would be the closest thing he would get to help. He resorted to improvisation.

"This is a public area, ma'am," he yelled, pointing. "Please keep your shirt on!" There wasn't even a woman in sight, but being boys, they whipped around like animals, leaving Sothe to hoist Micaiah's arm around his shoulder and make a break for it. He ran, hoisting her along as best he could, until he heard the cries of "hey, there's no one naked here," in which case he sped even faster, until they were almost at the city gates.

Sitting up and drawing the remains of her tattered cloak about her, Micaiah looked at Sothe. He felt just as he had when she had first made eye contact with him, as if she was peering into his very psyche- except instead of with, a warm, caring, benevolent gaze, her eyes were sad, melancholy, and lifeless. Being herself, she, of course, attempted to smile, but her voice was even more hollow than her eyes. "So. Now you know. …Why aren't you running away, or chasing me, or calling me names like everyone else…?"

Sothe gawked in disbelief for a moment, then remembered he was supposed to be the 'tough guy,' crossing his arms and snorting. "Listen, Micaiah. There are two kinds of people I hate in this world- those who refuse to give me food or money, or those who physically harm me or you. Quite obviously, not counting the time we saw that iron dagger at fifty percent off, you don't fall into either category. I've got no reason to hate you, unlike those ignorant pigs."

"But- But you heard them. I'm a monster, a freak of nature… I shouldn't even exist, Beorc and Laguz were never meant to unite-"

Scoffing again, he tapped her lightly on the forehead to interrupt her, coughing slightly as he prepared to speak seriously. "Please. Just last week I thought a Laguz was something you could eat for five gold up at the bazaar. You've got mixed heritage, so what? To me, you're a nice, kind girl with whom I've shared the best days of my life with. Some funny-looking tattoo isn't changing that. "

Tears formed in her eyes with each word he spoke, and with his final point, she collapsed weeping into his arms, her chest heaving with the weight of the realization that she had finally found a true friend. All her fears and doubts which she had carried with her all her life were now reconciled, and she cried tears of joy even harder for it.

He patted her on the back awkwardly.


	4. Micaiah Disappears

**I don't like this chapter either, for some reason. I think it's because I put too much detail in some sections, but not nearly enough into transitions and some others. It stinks even harder than the last one, I'm afraid. It is, however, the second-to-last chapter, so I guess you won't have to put up with my crappy writing for much longer. So, that said, on to the content. Try to put up with it, for my sake. Please.**

**_Micaiah Disappears_**

Darkness. It was amazing, for he had been surrounded by the shadows for his entire life. He'd always thought himself comfortable in it, yet never had he been so afraid. He reached out his hand blindly, grasping at nothing but a wisp of thin, frigid air, which dissipated as he passed through it, leaving him truly alone. That was it- it wasn't the darkness, it was the simple fact that he was alone in it. He'd grown so accustomed to having Micaiah at his side, he couldn't bear to be separated from her for even the slightest. He even growled and cursed under his breath and paced about restlessly when she relieved herself.

He screamed. There were footsteps, and looked about wildly to find their source. After a minute or so, a silhouette appeared from the shadows. It was her, doubtlessly. He called out to her, reaching out, but she kept walking. Faster and faster she went, or perhaps slower and slower he went- he didn't know, and the same could be said for his caring. She was disappearing. He was falling.

Shit, falling?

Screaming, he woke up, sitting up drenched in a cold sweat as he threw aside his rags. His breath was haggard and chopped, and he had to grip his face to anchor himself to reality. Slowly, he came to his senses, looking around at his surroundings. It was their regular shack, the brick side of an abandoned building, with a ripped canvas top mounted against it with a couple of rickety wooden poles for support. Of course, a large bowl of chicken stock would've probably cost more, but they called it home.

"They," in that case, however, would be an incorrect usage of the word, as he noticed that the makeshift futon next to his own was deserted. That was quite unusual- Sothe used to think that he rose early, in the past, to steal, and in the present to beg for scraps. The sun rose only slightly earlier than he did. Micaiah, on the other hand, normally got up and got to work before the owls turned in to avoid the thorny, viselike grip of the sun's burning rays.

Stretching, he yawned and stepped out of bed, shaking his head vigorously to further push the thoughts of his nightmares away. As usual, he was hungry, so he navigated along the alleyways until he reached the square. Conveniently, the closest shop had an open array of miniature meat pies. The aroma was too much to resist, and he swiped one and darted backwards. Micaiah still disapproved, of course, but he'd gone an entire week without taking anything at all, which was a record he doubted he'd soon beat. He stood there for a while and savored the first bite of real food he'd had in ages, then ran back to his home, figuring Micaiah'd be back from wherever she was and hungry as well.

To make a long story short, he spent twenty minutes looking about and figuring that he'd figured wrong. The meat pie went untouched out of worry.

By Sothe, that is. An orange bird flitted down from its nesting place high above their lodgings and began pecking at any food it could get its grubby little beak on, as it always did. "Get away, you little- That's for Micaiah!" Sothe growled, momentarily distracted. It'd been living where it was for as long as they had, and Micaiah had taken an irrational liking to it, or so Sothe thought. He hated the little thing, always getting in the way and eating their precious resources. He raised his hand to swat the thing away, but noticed a silken red ribbon tied to its leg.

Understandably curious, he reached over and untied it, a small scrap of parchment slipping out and landing in a puddle below. He reached down and picked it up with his forefingers, turning it over to reveal a choice few, hastily scrawled and water-soaked letters.

_I cannot stay here and endanger you any longer. Do not look for me. I love you._

He scrunched his face up in confusion. "Cannot- What the hell is she talking about?" The bird blinked and cocked its head to the side, as if acknowledging the note was senseless. "Endanger…'I thought we were fine… Maybe she's talking about the harassment we get…" He touched his cheek subconsciously, running his finger over a scar he had recently gotten from an incident where a couple of playing children had accidentally exposed her mark before the entire square. "Well then, why the hell isn't she taking me along with her?" Disgusted, he snarled and tossed the parchment behind his shoulder as he drew his cloak around him, turning swiftly and stalking angrily into the darkness.

He walked for over an hour, soon running. "Micaiah! Micaiah!" he'd cry at any open area he came to, cupping his hands around his mouth and screaming to the point where he nearly lost his voice. Still, if she had heard him at any point, she never responded, and he was left on the verge of tears each and every time. The bird tried to comfort him as it flew alongside him, often resting on his shoulder for a moment or so and sadly nipping at his ear. He'd wipe at his eyes furiously and shrug it off, running with renewed anger each time.

Night fell soon. Discouraged and even more confused, he sat behind the city gates and craned his neck up to the starts in exhaustion. "I don't know what to do anymore," he muttered, hanging his head. "I can't find a trace of her, I've looked all over the city, and I'm so damn depressed I'm talking to you for company." The bird seemed to take offense and tried to peck at his face. "Well, if she wanted to get away from me, she'd probably take a boat somewhere, right?" A tweet in reply. "But she'll be long gone when I get anywhere near a boat, the nearest port city is a day's… Walk… Away… " His voice trailed off as he realized there was a stable not two meters in front of him.

A horse looked at him and whinnied.

Two minutes later, he was riding through the dark plains faster than a Laguz hawk could fly, goading the horse on so quickly he was sure its legs would give out all through the night. They rode and rode on, Sothe even beginning to feel sleep pulling him down into her embrace. Thankfully, the steed was a trustworthy one, and he soon found himself gazing at the ocean just as the sun rose again, rubbing at his eyes. Not even bothering to search the city as he heard a horn blowing, he dismounted, slapping the mount on its rear to send it back, and ran past the gates and to the docks.

A multitude of vessels lined the harbor, flapping their ghostly sails in the cool breeze. There was a great bustle of passengers and deckhands alike, carrying supplies back and forth, waving tearful farewells, and a general noise, but he swept through it regardless, searching desperately for his silver-haired companion. As he was looking amongst the crowd, many of the ships cast off, and he quickly turned his attention to them. As he did so, the bird flew off his shoulder and towards one of the farther out ships- by the time it perched on the stern, he could barely make out its shape.

A hand reached out from the passengers on the boat, the shadow flitting onto its finger. The hand emerged into a full figure, a short one clad in rags with silky silver hair, an unmistakable one. He screamed her name, cupping his hands around his mouth. It wasn't very audible among the chatter, indeed, only a couple people paid him the mildest attention, but somehow he reached her over the rolling waves, and she turned to face him.

Their eyes connected for the last time. Sothe practically felt the warmth of her gaze tearing away at his heart, and he fell to his knees, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. Even as he panted, he managed to look up with blurred vision, and he could see her reaching around her neck to undo her scarf. She set it aloft in the sea breeze, and slowly but surely, it danced in the air for him to catch it, just as his legs finally sank and he fell to all fours, weeping bitterly.

_Micaiah,_ he managed to think through his tears as he held the scarf to his heart. _Micaiah, Micaiah, Micaiah…!_

Long after her ship left his field of vision, even the strength to cry left him, and he simply sat there, angrily wiping at his eyes. Staggering, he attempted to stand shakily as he coughed. He tripped over himself and fell again. Propping himself up with a scratched elbow, he tried to stand again, this time successful, sniffling as he wiped his upper lip with his index finger. He tried not to break down crying again, instead trying his hardest to not think of anything at all.

It didn't work.

"You… Boat-master!" he called to a man who had been standing about idly, smoking a pipe he had drawn from his captain's uniform. "That small boat with the gilded railings that just left- where was it headed?"

The man sized him up, then tilted his head back to look at the passing clouds. "Y'mean the _Enterprise_? That's a beautiful one, innit? She's a private charter, tho', so no one knows where she's gone."

"Can you get me to..." he slowed down and thought for a moment, wondering where she had gone. "Crimea? Anywhere on the west side."

Again, the man frowned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "West Crimea? This is Ashnard's rule, kid. No boats there, no trade there. You're gonna need at least-" Not even doubting himself for a second, he slipped a drawstring from his neck and handed a leather pouch containing his life savings to the man. The captain opened it rather suspiciously, but the moment he beheld its contents, his eyes bulged and he looked around quickly before tucking the money discreetly in his pocket. "We can have you there in a week."

Sothe thanked him.

_Micaiah…_He considered the fabric he was holding for a moment as he gazed across the ocean waves._ I'll find you. I'll track you to the ends of the earth. There's no way I'm going to lose you. And that's a promise._

He tied the scarf firmly around his neck.


	5. Bonds Reappear

**And so, we reach the final chapter. Thanks to those who were actually looking forward to it. It isn't a long one, by any means, but it's one I'm actually more-or-less proud of. I accomplished what I set out to do, and thanks to those who helped me get there. That said, I do apologize for any continuity errors in the entire story- I haven't played Path of Radiance or Radiant Dawn in excess of a year, and can't right now as I've lent it to a friend. On the other hand, I'm still open to edit suggestions for any chapter ( this one re-edited on 9-4-10). Feel free to comment. Reviews are appreciated as always, and lastly, thank you for reading. **

_**Bonds Reappear**_

Finally coming to a rest in the shadow of an abandoned butchery, he let the empty beer bottle he'd been kicking roll along to a gentle rest among the sea of broken glass shards with a resounding _clink_ as he sighed and sat among the darkened dust, running his fingers through his mussed and greasy hair and finally letting them bury his blackened face. His boots swept up torrents of sand in his disgust as he drew his knife, contemplating his dirty, unkempt reflection as well as the deadly sharp point that could easily end his life right then and there. He raised it to his eye, then faintly remembered Micaiah's warm gaze, and faltered- until he remembered what he'd been doing for the last four years, and tossed the knife into the ground, where it embedded itself to the hilt.

He craved her. To feel her golden touch, to see her laugh, her smile, to hear her gentle voice. He'd never wanted something so badly- and hated it so much. Quite often he imagined giving her a good punch in the gut, he was so angry at her. She'd told him 'I love you,' yet had abandoned him to the mercy of fate, who certainly had not been kind to him so far. Too many times had he almost been killed to not be angry with her. But he wanted her.

_Damn…_he thought as he licked the grazed crook of his index finger angrily. _Maybe I will just give up. _He screamed at the graying skies above, begging for them to return his lost companion to him. _Commander Ike bought my acting well enough, but I just can't take this anymore…_Angrily, he turned swiftly and smashed his fist into the brick behind him, crushing both the wall and his hand as he slumped in a heap of blood and dust, clawing at the ground deliriously. _Micaiah…!_

"…You called?" a soft voice replied.

He raised his head in surprise so quickly he hit a hanging beam, causing him to fall flat on his face with a yell, sprawled out and wincing on the ground in a messy heap at the feet of-

"Micaiah-! You-" he scowled and bowed his head to the ground, clenching his fist as he trembled with the effort of keeping himself from violence. "What the hell are you doing here…?" he growled menacingly and slowly. "I thought you didn't want to 'endanger me?"

She reached out her arm as he turned around and crossed his arms in a sort of pout. "Sothe, I-" she started to plead, then stopped. He could practically envision her shoulders sagging as she let out a sigh, but his pride restricted him from turning back to face her properly. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered, wrapping her arm over his shoulder, crossing over his body. Her touch was warm and soft, like an open fire in the dead of winter, but it was instantly thrown off as he rounded on her, due to both his perceived wounding of his pride and his unable to keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

"Two years! Two years, you abandon me, not even bothering to say a proper goodbye! I fought a damn war to find you, and still nothing, like you were trying to avoid me the whole damn time! I went through hell! Then you finally decide to show up again out of nowhere, and all you can manage is a measly 'I'm _sorry_?"

Finally bursting into tears, he collapsed, falling into her arms and weeping openly into her chest. She stroked his hair in an attempt at comfort, rocking him slowly and humming a soft tune in his ear. Time seemed to crawl to a stop as they held each other, finally reunited. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, mostly due to his limited vocabulary- perhaps the best term would be 'at ease.' They stayed that way for nearly an hour, silently continuing. Finally, Micaiah felt it appropriate to speak again, whispering in his ear.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't ever leave me again."

"I know."

"And never keep any secrets from me."

"Of course."

"And I'll do the same for you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Finally relaxing, he let himself be lowered to the ground, allowing his limp head to be moved to rest in her lap as she sank to the ground and sat. He collected his body together, snuggling into a more comfortable position as she resumed running her fingers lightly through his hair and humming, feeling his body tire by the second as he realized a gigantic weight had been lifted from his chest, finally at rest. "Micaiah?" he asked in a low voice after a couple of minutes, closing his eyes and letting rest overtake him for the first time in years.

"Hm?"

"Can we stay like this for a little while longer?"

She smiled down at him. "Forever, if you'd like."

He smiled back, rolled over, and began to snore.


End file.
